The rain had begun about mid-day of the previous day. One of those cold, November drizzles that matted the fallen leaves, robbing them of all rustle as Aunt Cathy slogged out to the root cellar for some appled to make a pie. Big Bill, Billy and Sharon, and maybe some of the others were coming tonight. They'd eat supper in the kitchen, then pull out the instruments to make a bit of music.
    BAck in the house, she deftly cut the lard into the flour to make the pie crust. She was thinking about last night. Cassie had come to her again. That had been happening alot lately. They had argued, something that had rarely happened when Cassie was alive. Cassie wanted her to get their story told. Cathy kept insisting that the family didn't want to hear. They were too busy with their own lives to care abut what an old woman had to say. Finally, because she couldn't stand to waste these precious times with Cassie in arguement, she told Cassie she would start to write it all down. They could read it after she was dead, if they wanted. That seemed to appease Cassie somewhat and she stopped pressing the issue.